Лори Касс - Cat With A Clue

That someone had also killed Andrea.

“You know what else?” I asked the question of Eddie, but I was looking at the last two flowers from Ash’s bouquet that hadn’t dropped all their petals or been turned into cat toys. “I bet I know why that X-Acto knife was at the murder scene.”

Either Andrea or her killer had expected to find the book in the library, and one of them had planned to slice out individual pages of the stunningly gorgeous flower paintings and sell them one by one.

The thought of that beautiful book being ripped into bits stirred up outrage in every cell of my librarian’s body. “No,” I said out loud. “I won’t let that happen.”

Of course, I had no idea how to stop it from happening, but there had to be a way.

And if there wasn’t, I’d make one.

* * *

The next morning, I woke up late. Eddie did, too, but, then, he almost always did.

“You know,” I told him as I stood, yawning, “if you didn’t try to turn my head into your pillow, I’d sleep a lot better.”

He opened one eye a fraction of an inch, then closed it again.

I tried again. “Experts recommend that you don’t allow pets into your bedroom at all. They say pets on your bed disrupt sleep patterns and bring dust and hair and dander and who knows what into a space where you don’t want any of that stuff.”

Eddie wriggled himself deeper into the bedcovers. Half a second later, I heard the dulcet tones of his snores. Smiling, I patted him on the head and headed to the shower. What did experts know, anyway?

Fifteen minutes later, I was clean and dressed, and we were both on the boat’s front deck, me with a fortifying mug of coffee.

“It’s Saturday,” I said to Eddie. “And I’m not working at all today.” For the summer, I’d scheduled the bookmobile three Saturdays a month, and this was the off day.

Though I was tempted to go to the library and get some work done, Holly and Donna and Kelsey had all vowed to make my life miserable if I didn’t get some fun into me. When I’d protested, saying that working at the library was fun, they’d said that alone was proof that I needed to get out more. Since it was possible they were the teensiest bit right, I’d agreed to stay away for an entire day and a half.

“Only what should I do with myself?” I scooped out the last bit of cereal, swallowed, and put the bowl onto the deck. Eddie slid off his chair and trotted over to get the last drops of milk out from the bottom of the bowl.

I listened, shaking my head at the lap-lap-lap . You’d think a creature as graceful as a cat would drink more quietly.

“Hey, Minster. Did you hear?”

I turned. Standing on the dock that ran between my boat and Eric’s was Chris Ballou, the marina’s manager. If I’d been forced to guess his age, I’d have said Chris was in his early forties, but he had a whippet-thin body that could be making him look fortyish even if he were pushing sixty. Then again, his speech patterns were those of a twenty-year-old. Since I hadn’t taken enough advanced math to figure out how all that might shake out, I’d long ago decided not to think about it.

What I did need to think about was how to make a new deal on keeping my boat slip’s reduced rental rate. Up until now, I’d been given a cut rate because no one else would take the slip next to the cranky guy who used to rent Eric’s slip. Now that Eric was here, however, Chris should have upped my rate to normal. He kept dodging the issue, saying that what his uncle Chip didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, but I knew that was wrong, and one of these days I’d get Chris to be serious about the situation.

“Hear about what?” I asked.

“Huh,” he said. “Looks like I get to break the news.”

My skin tightened. A hundred possibilities occurred to me. Something had happened to my parents. To my brother. My brother’s family. To my aunt Frances. To Ash. To Rafe or Kristen, or Holly or Josh or any of the library staff. Then, when I ran out of people, I wondered if something had happened to the bookmobile. Or the library. Or downtown. Or my hometown of Dearborn. Then I started wondering if something had happened to something bigger, like the Mackinac Bridge or the state capitol or the US Capitol or—

Eric’s head popped out of the entry to his boat’s lower regions. “What news?” he asked.

“Hey,” Chris said, nodding a good morning to Dr. Apney. “I just wondered if Min-Bin here knew what happened.”

Chris was a great mechanic, a solid marina manager, and a decent enough guy, but he had two bad habits. One, he enjoyed making new nicknames for me a little too much. Two, he couldn’t relate simple facts without turning them into a long-winded story.

Eric squinted into the morning sunshine. “That’s an extremely open question. I mean, it’s a guarantee that lots of things have happened, after all. Tightening the time frame would be helpful.”

And my neighbor was not helping.

“Well,” Chris said, drawling out the word, “you got a good point there. I could narrow it down a little, make it easier for her to figure out.”

This could go on all morning. I stood and summoned my Librarian Voice. “Tell me,” I ordered.

Chris straightened imperceptibly. “Early this morning,” he said. “There was a fire in Petoskey. At their library. I heard the janitor was in the hospital—breathed in too much smoke, you know?—and he probably won’t make it. There was a bunch of damage . . . hey, Min, what’re you doing?”

Paying no attention to Chris, I unceremoniously dumped Eddie inside the houseboat and grabbed my backpack. When I came outside three seconds later, Chris was still talking.

“Hey, my pal Ed was liking it out here in the sun,” he said, sounding aggrieved. “What’s the matter with leaving him out here longer? Hey, where you going?”

But I was down the dock and gone.

Chapter 12

Detective Inwood stared at me over the top of a coffee mug. He blew off the steam, sending it my way, and lifted the mug toward his mouth. I looked away, hoping somehow that if I didn’t look, I wouldn’t be able to hear the slurping noises as clearly as I had a moment before, but, once again, the technique was a complete failure.

The detective’s swallowing sounds filled the small room. I sat as patiently as I could. After all, it was a Saturday morning, and I’d expected to tell my concerns to the on-duty deputy up front. Once I’d started talking, however, he’d called the detective, and here we were, back in the interview room. Ash was off this weekend, helping his mom with some outside chores, and I hadn’t wanted to bother him.

“My apologies, Ms. Hamilton,” the detective said, setting the mug onto the table. “My daughter and our new grandchild are staying with us for a few nights while her husband is out of town on business. It’s wreaking havoc on my sleep patterns. What do you have for me this morning? More mayhem, with dire complications for the future?”

He quirked up a smile. “And please tell me your cat isn’t involved this time. The sheriff’s been talking about getting an office cat ever since that night she spent with your Eddie.”

That had been months ago. If Sheriff Richardson was serious about an office cat, I was sure she would have brought one in by now, but I put on a thoughtful expression. “I know of a litter of kittens that’s almost old enough to go out on their own. I’ll have to remember to tell the sheriff.”

Inwood gave me a pained look, and I almost laughed out loud.

“What I wanted to tell you,” I said, “doesn’t have anything to do with cats.” My imagination almost saw Eddie picking up his head at the flagrant heresy and sending me a loud “Mrr!” but I plowed ahead.